


145 - A Girl He Used to Know

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “I was thinking if y/n had always been real big support of catfish from the start and the boys all knew who she was but when the come back and she’s able to go she them again she notices one of their songs is about her so she goes out of her way to talk to Van about it ?” and “one where Van meets your parents but you are from another country and your parents don’t speak english?”





	145 - A Girl He Used to Know

"Where'd you get that shirt?!" Van asked. His first ever words to you. 

"Uh… I made it," you told him.

"What?! You fuckin' kidding? It's so good. Can you make us a bunch so we can sell them?!"

He dragged you to meet the others, and that is how you met Catfish and the Bottlemen. They were just kids, like you, and they were only starting to figure out their sound. You became a regular fixture at their shows and were always the first to buy their demos and learn the lyrics. If one of the guys spotted you at a gig, they'd wave across the room. It wasn't like you were crushing on them, so you didn't feel the need to establish any sort of proper friendship. You were happy to speak to them every now and again, tell them how you felt about the new songs and listen to the inside word on upcoming ones.

As the years went on, the venues got bigger. The crowds grew. Catfish became a hell of a lot more mainstream than anyone expected. You'd always had faith in them though, so you were not surprised at their success. You were happy for them, but it was still bittersweet. Sometimes you missed the tiny rooms where Van would literally swing from the ceilings. Those shows were intimate and raw and provided the escapism you needed from the rest of the world.

There was one night where you were sitting on the curb after the show. Van sat next to you and asked you what you thought. You told him, and as you spoke you felt too at ease. Once you started, you couldn't stop, and you told him about what his band meant. It meant postponing all the shit for just a fucking night. That his music sounded like the life you wanted; twenty-four-hour cities, likeable roommates, no dead-end jobs. You told him that if he could make it doing that, then you could maybe try your luck elsewhere. Stop biding time. Live your life. At first, Van didn't know what to say. He figured out there was no response that was right, and instead, he hugged you. It was the last time you spoke to him before The Ride was released.

When you heard it, you fell harder in love. Your boys had grown up so much. Such a clean, crisp sound. Stripped back and straight forward. You were dying even before you got to Postpone. When you did though, you couldn't process it.

The lyrics were your words. The story was your life. The song was about you. Maybe, you thought, you were just being happy-paranoid; trying to find connections to you and the band that could exist even as they grew and grew. "I'll be there when it all falls," though, was what Van said to you about his music being so critical to your survival. He was singing it to you, and it made you cry.

It had been over a year since the curbside conversation. You'd changed since then. Hair cut. Different city. Happier. Even if you could figure out a way to talk to Van, he'd probably not remember you. You were just a kid from the early days, you thought. In the end, you didn't need to try to seek Van out. He found you.

You were at a café with your parents on a visit back home. Despite living in the U.K. for all those years, their English was still limited. They'd been too fearful to step outside of the small community that gave them shelter when they first arrived. You didn't blame them. The state of the world, why bother trying to 'assimilate' if you were just going to get hated for it anyway. 

As they read through the menu, asking for your help translating every now and then, you watched a group of guys drink Bloody Mary's and eat plates and plates of cooked breakfasts. You'd not really looked at them as individuals, more their group dynamic, their copious amount of shared food that they couldn't possibly consume entirely. Attention back to your parents as the waiter came over and took orders, you didn't notice one of the guys standing and walking over to your table. He arrived as the waiter left.

"Hey Y/N," Van said. You looked up at him and went into shock. Just staring, your mother was the first to break the silence.

"Y/N. Is this a friend?" she asked, her accent thick but through it you could hear the curiosity.

"Hi. I'm Van. I knew Y/N growing up," he said and held a hand out to them both. Your father liked the handshake; it was respectful and kind. Your mother was confused at the contact but shook anyway. "Haven't seen her in a while," he told them.

"Please. Sit," your father said. You looked over at him. He'd never invited any of the other pasty white boys to sit. Van took the fourth and final chair at the table.

"How've you been?" he asked you.

"Uh… Good… I moved…" you said.

"Figured when you stopped coming to all the gigs,"

"You are in the rock group?" your mother asked him. You'd made them listen to the records, but your family was traditional and they tsk-tsk'ed at the distorted guitar and cussing lyrics.

"Yeah. Y/N was totally our biggest fan. We kinda love her," he said, switching between past and present tense, not sure where you were standing anymore.

"She says the record did very good, very successful. We saw you on the television," your father told him, all smiles.

"Yeah?! Still weird, that. My mum and dad take photos of the T.V. all the time and send it to me. Still stoked about it all," Van laughed. He turned back to you. "I like your hair,"

"Thanks,"

"What did you think of The Ride?" The waiter delivered coffees to the table; fast service. Van took it as a cue to leave. "Sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted. I just… saw you. It's been forever, yeah?" He stood up, and you saw your chance to ask slipping away.

"Postpone?!" you quickly said slash asked. Van's mouth curled into a smirk. He looked at you and nodded. "I… It's…"

"It's 'bout you? Gotta know by now I write about the people around me,"

"Yeah… but…"

"Listen, do you maybe wanna catch up later? You in the city for long?"

"Y/N has no friends here anymore," your mother told Van. She meant it in an 'oh, she's free' kind of way, not 'oh, Y/N is a friendless loser' type of way. Lost in translation. "We are going to a performance tonight that she says no to. She will be free,"

"Perfect," Van said, smirking at you, "Meet back here around 6?" You nodded. He held his hand out to your parents again. "Really nice to meet you."

When he was back at his table you glanced over. You didn't recognise any of the other guys at the table from years gone by. Maybe some of them you'd seen on social media, but you didn't know them like you knew Catfish.

Alone again, your parents spoke in their native tongue. They said Van was nice, for a boy in a band. Asking them what made him different to the others you'd tried to bring home, your father said that Van had soul. You couldn't agree more.

…

As you approached the café in the setting sun, you watched Van walk around a Lotus car parked out front. He stood on the sidewalk, cigarette in hand, then flicked the butt at the wheels when he was done. You stood next to Van and looked at the car too.

"What kind of asshole drives a Lotus?" he said, deadpan and unimpressed.

"Compensating?"

"Definitely."

Van turned and hugged you tightly. He looked at you properly, studying the changes.

"What?"

"You've just… It's only been a year and a bit, yeah? You're just so different. So grown up,"

"You too. You're dressing better,"

"Thanks. That's not on purpose," he replied with a chuckle.

"Didn't think it would be. Where to?"

Van wrapped his arm around your shoulders and started to lead you off into the city. At a bar you used to all but call home, you took a table in the corner and let Van buy you a drink. You evaluated each other for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. Who should speak first? Could you skip the chitchat?

"I remember you saying that you wanted to leave," Van said. "It's good that you did. Are you happier now?"

"Yeah. I just needed to be… I don't know. I was so sheltered, you know? Even with all the time I spent at shows. The same bands. Same bars. I just needed to see the rest of the world,"

"So you travelled?"

"Only for a little bit. Couldn't afford more than a couple of months. But it was good. Got to go see where my family's from and stuff. Taught some of them English,"

"That's really cool," Van said, nodding.

"How about you? You've been pretty much everywhere now, right?"

"Yeah… Almost. The whole 'taking over the world' thing is going pretty well," he laughed.

"Well if my dad saw you on T.V., I'd say so," you replied and he nodded again. "And, to answer your question from before, I think The Ride is amazing. I know I don't really know any of you, but like, I’m just so fucking proud?"

"I think you can say you know us. Owned the first ever Catfish shirt. That's gotta mean something,"

"When I was getting rid of a bunch of stuff before I moved I was going to throw that out, but I couldn't bring myself to! Think I'll probably be buried with that fucking t-shirt," you told him. He smiled like it was a compliment, which it kind of indirectly was.

"I'm glad you liked the record. And Postpone… Thanks for that?"

You looked at him and tilted your head like a puppy that had heard a new sound. "Thanks?"

"Yeah. For the material. I wrote that on the night we had that conversation, you know? Went home and couldn't stop thinking about it. It's good that it made it on the album, and it's good that you didn't get stuck in that mindset, or whatever," Van said.

"Yeah," you agreed on both counts.

Van rolled his bottle around on the table by the bottom rim. It made a grainy sound that was somehow calming. You watched him watching it, then saw the smirk slowly form on his lips. His eyes flicked up and his gaze hit you with a force that made you sit straight. "Do you want to know somethin' funny?" he asked. You nodded and took another sip of your drink. "I had the biggest crush on you."

"What?"

"Yeah… I saw you before that very first gig and you were wearing a hoodie and so I didn't even see the t-shirt, you know? Thought you were dead cute even before my face with literally on your chest," he told you, still smirking. "And then after that I was just… I didn't know what to do. Didn't want to seem like a sleazy lad in a band? Fuckin' killed me every time I saw you with someone else,"

"I… You never seemed…"

"I know. I'm a good actor, innit?" He shrugged and smiled warmly. "Postpone's probably not the only song about you. I was devastated when you stopped coming to gigs, but figured you're happy somewhere, so it was alright."

There were questions cycling through your mind faster than you could process and articulate them. This was Van. The kid that you'd watch grow up on stage, his own journey a mirroring of yours. The goal being to get out of that fucking city and see the world, meet people, be happy. And happy, he thought, would have been better with you. You'd not have guessed that in a million, billion, trillion years.

"I don't know what to say," you finally replied with.

"Don't think you have to say anything about that. Just thought I should tell you. Don't expect you to like me back," he said, switching between tenses again. The difference between 'did not expect you to have liked me' and 'do not expect you to like me' was significant in consequence. Did he know what he said? Was he just a messy speaker, or was he picking his words carefully? You had nothing to lose.

"Didn't expect me to have liked you, or don't expect me to like you?" you asked. His head dipped, and his face was hidden for a brief moment. Van looked around the room, then back at you. He was grinning and you knew what that meant. "You don't know me though,"

"I know enough," he said. 

"Enough to think you like me?"

"Yep,"

"You're…" You didn't know where to start with what Van was.

"Dead sexy? Very successful? Good with my hands? Fifa world champion? Generally quality?"

"I was going to say ridiculous,"

"That too, probably," he agreed, nodding. You both took mouthfuls of your drinks. 

"My parents like you and they don't like many strangers,"

"Sorted, then,"

"Didn't say I like you,"

"But you do.”

And, you maybe you did. Van's hopeful eyes and charming confidence and warm smile would get you, if they hadn't already. He was the same kid who bounced around on stage awkwardly, legs flicking up at odd angles. He was the same person that watched you cross the dance floor with different people that paled in comparison to him. Van then, all grown up in a cool grey jacket with a good haircut, was the exact same awkward boy that leant against walls listening to you tell him how Rango deserved better. And in all those little moments that you thought were just about music, a human connection was forged. Forgotten daydreams about you in his bed that surfaced when he saw you in the café. Repressed emotions that rolled into your mind as he said Postpone was all for you. It's never just about the music. It's about the people that the music is about. It's about why the music is written and played and listened to. It's about you and Van, and it always had been.


End file.
